


Influence

by ficbear



Series: Mage [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Anal Sex, Demon Sex, Implied Incest, M/M, Magic, Multiple Orgasms, Possession, Rituals, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-06
Updated: 2011-10-06
Packaged: 2017-10-24 09:04:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/261547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ficbear/pseuds/ficbear
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I watch him undress, and the glow of the candlelight coats Lawrence's body with gold and amber, gleaming on each line of muscle and bone. He looks like a pale Dionysus, and he's had enough to drink already that I can see the effervescent wildness of lust smouldering clearly in his eyes. With that look on his face, he seems almost ready to ravish me here and now, with no demonic intervention required.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Influence

"And the demon will possess me, will it?"

I wrinkle my nose, unhappy with the word. "It'll _influence_ you."

Lawrence looks at me, clearly not entirely convinced, and I give a theatrical sigh.

"The demon will be…" I pause, groping for the right word. "Kind of superimposed on you. You'll feel what it feels, and it'll feel what you feel. You'll be linked. And you'll be occupying the same physical space."

"I'll be fully conscious, throughout the whole affair?"

"Oh yes." I grin. "Fully conscious, and experiencing quite a lot more sensory stimulation than you normally would. Benefits of being hooked up to a demon's nervous system."

Finally, Lawrence gives me an easy smile and relents. "Sold."

"Even though it's a little on the risky side?"

"If I was at all put off by a bit of danger, Rosario, I doubt I'd be sitting here in your rooms to begin with."

 

* * *

 

There are quite a few more glyphs than are strictly necessary, dotted around the room in an apparently haphazard manner, glowing faintly in the half-light. I normally err on the side of sparseness, but for Lawrence's sake I'm willing to put on a bit of a show; in this, as in all things, Lawrence likes a bit of drama and showmanship, and I'm more than willing to indulge my friend's foibles. After all, Lawrence is the star of the show tonight.

And he certainly looks the part. I watch him undress, and the glow of the candlelight coats Lawrence's body with gold and amber, gleaming on each line of muscle and bone. He looks like a pale Dionysus, and he's had enough to drink already that I can see the effervescent wildness of lust smouldering clearly in his eyes. With that look on his face, he seems almost ready to ravish me here and now, with no demonic intervention required.

Smiling to myself, I beckon him into the centre of the room, to the spot most heavily layered with glyphs, and draw him into a tight embrace. Through the thin silk of my robe, I can feel Lawrence's arousal and the heat of his body, and I'm tempted to drop to my knees there and then, summoning be damned.

"Ready?" I ask, smiling up at him, letting him see the hunger in my face.

Lawrence runs his hands across my back and down to my rear, stroking me lightly through the silk. "Absolutely."

"Splendid."

I drop into Latin for the invocation itself, though simple English would do just as well. Little touches like that make all the difference for non-mages, in my experience, and the desire in Lawrence's eyes makes it perfectly clear he's no exception. He watches intently as I speak, and anyone would think I was reciting love poetry by the passion it seems to stir in him. Keeping my expression serious, I draw the invocation to a close, and with a grand gesture I finally ignite the last of the glyphs.

The room blazes with the gold light of the sigils, and at once the air seems to thicken and grow dense. The scent of something different, something potent and heavy, fills the air. I look up into Lawrence's eyes, watching carefully; I'm abysmal at telling whether the link has been established, always have been, and I study my friend's face intently for any sign of difference.

"Lawrence?" I say finally, giving up and asking outright in what I hope is not too dejected a tone.

And Lawrence doesn't reply, just smiles a terrifying sharp smile, leaving me in no doubt at all.

Lawrence's hands dart up, far too fast, and seize the lapels of my robe, bunching up handfuls of burgundy silk and rending the garment open as if it were tissue paper. As my body is abruptly bared, I wonder for a moment whether I really am taking too great a risk; everyone knows at least one mage who's been injured or worse pursuing pleasures like these, and I remember the details of the grimmest cases vividly. But once you've tasted this, I know as well as anyone, the risk never seems to matter for very long. No matter how frightening the experience might be, everyone – _everyone_ – comes back for more.

Stepping back, Lawrence looks my naked body up and down, taking it in as if he's never seen it before. I can't help but shiver, feeling those eyes on me, deep and dark and hard like burning coals. You never get used to it. Then Lawrence grabs hold of my arms, clawing at me with nails that are unnaturally sharp, and my thoughts scatter and crumble, and there's nothing left but the feeling of strong hands pushing me down, holding me still, groping and manhandling every bit of me.

There's no hesitation in Lawrence's actions, no care or caution. He just spreads me out on my back, wrenches my legs apart, and fucks me as if he's trying to hammer me into the ground. The weight of him on top of me is far more than it should be, far heavier than a light frame like his should carry. I squirm underneath him, enjoying the pressure, revelling in the pretence that I couldn't get away if I tried. And a thought occurs to me: if I hadn't prepared myself thoroughly, if my flesh were not already as relaxed and oiled as it's possible to be, his cock would be tearing me open right now. The idea sends a ripple of pleasure through me, as gruesome as it is, and I cringe at my own macabre tastes. When did I become such a ghoul?

Lawrence grabs my ankles, hauling my legs up so that all of my weight is shifted onto my shoulders, and I cry out at the sudden pain. He wants to get deeper into me, it seems, because he pins my legs so high and wide apart that I fear my hips won't take the strain. As he begins to fuck me again, driving his cock deep enough into me that the impact seems to echo through my muscles with each thrust, I push the anxiety down where it can't distract me. After all, dislocated joints are nothing a healer couldn't mend, and I probably wouldn't even have to go far to find one who'd do the job without asking difficult questions. _Really, Rosario,_ I say to myself in Lawrence's voice, _you're fretting like those teenage apprentices you scorn so much_. Maybe so. But I am at least old enough and skilled enough to control a demon, even if I can't control my own thoughts; boys like those apprentices would be lucky to last two minutes in a summoning like this. The thought makes me laugh, and excites me more than I'd care to admit.

Between those potent thoughts and the relentless pounding of Lawrence's cock, I'm rushing far too fast towards climaxing, finding myself carried off as if on a tidal wave. I won't have the evening concluded prematurely, however. I might be a masochist and a catamite, but I will never allow myself to lose control entirely; I just want to skate close enough to the edge that I can feel its breeze on my face. And now I need to assert some authority, before I find myself swept away entirely.

I say the binding phrase out loud, catching Lawrence's eyes as my lips shape the words. The demon recognises it before the second syllable is out of my mouth, but he doesn't have time to fight it. I could have activated the binding silently, since thoughts are as good as words for this kind of thing, but I wanted him – _them_ – to hear the words. Partly to excite Lawrence, and partly to let the demon hear that even now, even panting and quivering beneath him, I am still capable of issuing commands.

Two of the glyphs, one at the north edge of the circle and one at the south, shift their hue to a deep scarlet that looks exquisite against the gold of the others. In moments Lawrence has been yanked backwards onto the floor, his wrists pinned above his head and his ankles held fast by the red glyphs. He looks up at me and snarls, through gritted teeth, though he won't deign to speak to me. His displeasure is plain enough without being put into words, however. It seethes and burns in his eyes.

The younger mages tend to assume that demons like this _can't_ speak, but it doesn't take them long to revise that opinion. It's easy at first to assume that they are bestial creatures, all lust and hunger and rage, with no governing intelligence. Easy and spectacularly foolish, with some rather nasty consequences if the assumption allows a demon to catch you off-guard. If anything, these demons have more intelligence than the average apprentice, and a good deal more subtlety too. I've seen mages be duped quite elaborately, embroiled in grand machinations cooked up by their summoned demons, so no matter how feral the snarling, clawing creature beneath me seems to be, I'll never be foolish enough to underestimate him.

I crouch over Lawrence's body, inches from where he could touch me. If he could only strain up a little more with those writhing, bucking hips, he could impale me again. But no matter how much he squirms and growls, I remain out of reach. Finally, when I grow bored of torturing him with the absence of touch, I shift to a cruder kind of torment. Wrapping one hand around the base of Lawrence's cock, I press the head of it lightly against the mouth of my ass, teasing his flesh with my own, rubbing and stroking and nudging but never quite taking him inside me. And now, _now_ he's willing to speak to a mere human mage. He hisses and curses, in what is definitely not Lawrence's voice. I can’t help but laugh as he spits insults at me.

"Such flattery." I say, dipping my hips just enough to brush against the tip of his cock again. "I usually only hear this kind of sweet-talk from my human lovers." I grin down at him, and somewhere inside there, I know Lawrence is laughing too.

As much as I enjoy riling the demon, my body is aching to be touched again, and the tight little knot of hunger in the pit of my stomach demands to be appeased. Bracing myself with one hand on Lawrence's chest, I sink down until his cock is buried in me and those sharp hipbones are digging into my thighs. He groans, thrusting up as much as he can, trying to fuck me in short, fast little strokes. I laugh at him again, and wag my finger.

"No," I say, smiling sweetly down at him. "We'll proceed at my pace, now."

I ride him slowly, lazily, snaking my hips so that his cock hits just the right angle. The more I take my time, the more it seems to madden the demon, and I really can't resist provoking him further. So I ride him as slowly and selfishly as if he were just a toy, just an object to be manipulated, a tool to be used for my pleasure. And I can see the fury in his eyes, dark and shining, growing stronger with each downward sweep of my hips.

Lawrence's arms strain against the glyphs holding them, and I can feel the muscles of his chest tensing beneath my hands. He's close, and it won't take much to draw the first climax out of him. Leaning back, displaying myself, I take hold of my own cock and begin to stroke it in time with the rhythm of my hips. The tactic works; Lawrence's eyes are fixed on the motion of my fist as he starts to come, and I take his cock in slow, deep strokes that leave him groaning and convulsing beneath me. I smile down at him, not faltering for a moment, letting my body clutch and milk his flesh until the last wave of his climax is spent.

Had I mentioned to Lawrence that he could expect increased vigour? I can't recall, and if not then I suppose this will be a pleasant surprise for him. His cock is still buried in my ass, as hard and unyielding as it had been before I'd even touched him, and I can tell by the fire in his eyes that he's far from sated. Now, since I've proved my point, I allow myself to move faster, riding Lawrence hard and digging my nails into his shoulders. On the upstrokes, I rise up just enough that his cock almost leaves me entirely, and I can feel the slow, hot trickle of his come snaking its way down across my thighs. On a whim, I reach behind myself and wet my fingers with it, smearing Lawrence's come across the palm of my hand, then bring my hand back around to stroke at my own cock again. He groans as he watches my fingers move, rubbing his come into my flesh, and then quite suddenly I feel him bucking beneath me again, snarling in pleasure and frustration as his second climax overwhelms him. I can't help but smirk; increased stamina I'd expected, a hair-trigger I had not. _Poor Lawrence_ , I think to myself, _you're going to be sore tomorrow_. Sorer than I'll be, at any rate.

I ride him harder, hurting myself with the force of my strokes, and the sound of my ass slapping against Lawrence's hips is obscenely wet and loud. His angry, ragged groans are just as loud, and my own moans sound more and more desperate with each roll of my hips. I've stoked the demon's indignation like a fire, and it's becoming harder and harder to resist burning myself on it. I hold back, teasing myself now, mocking myself for my hunger and need. _Greedy boy_ , I say to myself, and the voice in my mind sounds uncannily like my father's. _Not a thought in your head beyond the need to be fucked, is there?_ And it's true, there's nothing now except the ache and the thirst and the boiling heat in my flesh. I snap, dismissing the red glyphs silently, wanting freedom to take the demon by surprise, and it does. For a moment he lies there, as if he were still fixed in position, and then all at once Lawrence's hands are on my arms, throwing me back with terrifying strength.

I hit the floor clumsily, sprawled out on my back with my legs and arms splayed, and before I can react he's on top of me again, forcing his way inside me. It's harder this time, brutal and fast, and when I try to cling onto Lawrence's shoulders he seizes my wrists and slams them down onto the floor, pinning me in place. All I can do is lie there and take it, pressing my heels against his back to urge him on, moaning and yelping with each vicious thrust. The pain, the insistent pounding of his cock hammering into me, and the look of sheer satisfaction in his eyes every time I cry out, it's glorious and intoxicating. The violence of it is shoving me closer and closer, grinding away my control, and I can feel myself falling over the precipice finally. I throw my head back, pushing against his grip on my wrists as I start to come, and the banishing command I give to sever the link is the last clear thought I have before I lose my mind entirely to the pleasure.

The demon is gone as soon as the word leaves my lips, and suddenly it's Lawrence again, just the pair of us, clutching at each other desperately. I can see the exhilaration in his eyes as he begins to come again, matching my convulsions with his own, groaning my name and digging his nails into my flesh. My name is still on his lips as the pleasure subsides, and he slumps forward with a contented sigh, pressing his lips to my shoulder.

After a moment, Lawrence pushes himself up onto his elbows, and I smile up at him. He looks happy, but drained and somewhat haggard, almost as if he's aged a little. I've seen that look so many times, on so many different faces. Tired but eager, spent but still hungry. Lawrence looks down at me with shadowed, bloodshot eyes, and grins.

"How soon can we do this again?"


End file.
